


my hips have missed your hips

by fliptomybside



Series: you can hear it in the silence [6]
Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fliptomybside/pseuds/fliptomybside
Summary: fionn visits harry in japan.





	my hips have missed your hips

**Author's Note:**

> hi, sorry this is completely unedited buuuut anyway, thanks to [em](http://fullstopmgnt.tumblr.com) as always, title from lorde's sober, please don't let the real people this is about see it, etc.

Fionn’s still kind of jet lagged. Everything’s a little hazy and feels like it’s going a million miles an hour while he’s stuck in slow motion. It always feels a bit like that when he visits Harry though, everyone whirling around with Harry in the center of it all, slow and calm and dimpling. 

The couch is surprisingly comfortable, or maybe he’s just tired, but he feels like it might swallow him up at any second and he’d be okay with that, if he’s honest. Harry’s inexplicably still in just a pair of worn black pants and a black button down that’s barely buttoned, moving around the room like it’s an everyday occurrence. Fionn racks his brain and tries to think back to the other times he’s visited. He doesn’t remember Harry being in states of undress then, but maybe it’s just something he’s become immune to. 

He must drift off, because he’s even more disoriented when Harry sinks down next to him on the couch and presses his thigh against Fionn’s, the heat of his skin bleeding through the fabric of Fionn’s jeans. 

“Want me to call a car? You can go back to the hotel and sleep a bit.”

Fionn blinks slowly, the room coming back into focus. It’s empty and quiet now, just him and Harry together on the couch. 

“Nooo,” Fionn slurs, and he lets his head tip onto Harry’s shoulder, “didn’t come all the way out here to fall asleep in your hotel room. Want to see you.”

“You can see me after. In the hotel room. Bed’s quite nice, you know. Only the best for you.”

He presses a kiss to the top of Fionn’s head and leans into him. He smells strange. Still good, but not like his usual shampoo. 

“You don’t smell the same,” Fionn mumbles, still leaning into the heat of Harry’s body. He toes his shoes off and draws his legs up onto the couch, jostling Harry in the process.

“Heyyy,” Harry whines, knocking him with his shoulder.

Fionn turns to look at him. His hair’s still wet from the shower and his tattoos are on full display thanks to his unbuttoned shirt, and Fionn can tell he’s trying not to grin.

“Not bad, jesus,” Fionn grumbles, rolling his eyes and swinging a leg over Harry’s hips and settling in his lap. 

It’s not the most comfortable position, his jeans restricting his movement, but the vague discomfort flies out of Fionn’s head when Harry slides his hands up Fionn’s thighs so he’s gripping his hips. Fionn leans forward and lets his forehead press against Harry’s. 

“Love your glasses.”

Harry’s breath hits Fionn’s lips and makes Fionn shiver in his lap. It’s been weeks since he’s gotten his hands on Harry--or Harry’s hands on him--and this is a lot, even though they talked every day. 

“Nicer than your fake ones, yeah?”

He’s too close to make out Harry’s grin, but he doesn’t need to see it to know it’s there. Harry doesn’t respond, just huffs out a laugh and slips a hand around the back of Fionn’s neck to draw him in. 

His lips are warm and soft and he brings up his other hand to pull Fionn closer, drags his thumb from the corners of their lips and rubs it softly against Fionn’s cheek. It’s easy to fall back into this, even though it feels like it’s been ages. Harry’s mouth is familiar now--has been for months, not that Fionn’s counting. Not really, anyway. It’s hard to focus on anything but the insistent press of Harry’s lips and the swipe of his tongue against the seam of Fionn’s lips, Harry’s hand going to the hinge of his jaw.

Fionn leans in further, presses his chest against Harry’s so Harry’s head tips to rest against the back of the couch. He slips his fingers down and fumbles for the few remaining buttons of Harry’s shirt that are still done up, tugging at them until Harry’s shirt parts. 

“Fionn,” Harry groans against his mouth, long and low, and Fionn smirks as he runs his hands up Harry’s chest and brushes his thumbs over Harry’s nipples. 

Harry’s hands drop at that, and Fionn whines at the loss until Harry slides them around his waist. It’s not exactly what Fionn wants. It’s good--Harry touching him always is--but his flannel shirt is in the way and Fionn just wants skin on skin at this point, the movement of their lips getting sloppier by the second. 

The kisses get deeper and Fionn loses himself to it, figures he can at least have Harry later. After, when he’s still buzzing with pent-up energy from the show. Harry’s hands get progressively lower, though, and after a minute, he sneaks one around Fionn’s front to unbutton his jeans, then the other slips under the waistband to cup the curve of his ass, warm skin on warm skin, Harry’s fingernails digging into it.

“Harry,” Fionn groans, his dick twitching when Harry slides his other hand down the back of Fionn’s jeans and pulls him even closer. 

“H, they’re ready for you,” Tommy calls from the hallway, and he pops his head in before Fionn can disentangle himself from Harry. 

“Jesus, guys, at least shut the door, H, get your hands out of his pants, you have a segment to record in five.”

Harry’s slow to move his hands, and Fionn hides his face in Harry’s neck.

“Sorry,” Harry calls out, and Fionn can hear Tommy laughing already.

“Just--five minutes, okay? When I come back I want everyone’s hands where I can see them.”

“Oh my god,” Fionn says into Harry’s neck. 

“‘S all right,” Harry says, slipping his fingers underneath the hem of Fionn’s shirt, “nothing he hasn’t seen before, if I’m honest.”

Fionn rolls his eyes.

“Maybe I will take you up on that hotel room offer,” he says, climbing out of Harry’s lap and zipping his jeans up over his still hard cock, wincing slightly. 

“Came all the way out here and you’re not going to stay for the show? I see how it is.”

Harry’s voice is even deeper than it normally is, and Fionn feels a brief flash of guilt before he looks up at Harry. His legs are still spread wide on the couch and Fionn can see the hard line of his cock in his pants. He’s grinning up at Fionn and biting his bottom lip, still shiny from kissing. 

“Really just came for the private one, mate, and I don’t think that’s happening here.”

Harry lets his head drop back and barks out a laugh, and Fionn can’t stop staring at the line of his throat, pale and unmarked. There’s no sign that Fionn’s been on him, and he wants to change that.

He grabs his backpack off the floor and straightens, wriggling into it and moving back toward the door.

“Might get myself off in your bed,” Fionn says, making sure Harry’s watching before he adjusts himself in his pants, “make it smell like me.”

He leans against the doorframe for a second and glances over his shoulder to make sure Tommy’s not lurking behind him. 

Harry’s palming himself when Fionn turns back, eyes dark and lips still red and kiss swollen. 

“Maybe think about putting some trousers on, yeah?”

“Mmm,” Harry hums, “don’t think I will, actually. Quite comfortable like this. Breezy.” 

“Breezy,” Fionn repeats flatly, “breezy for all of Japan to see, huh.”

Harry just shrugs and digs out his phone, drawing one leg up onto the couch with a smirk still gracing his mouth.

“Just giving the people what they want, Fionnly. Car’ll be outside in a minute.”

Harry makes a pretty picture on the couch with his long legs on full view, Fionn thinks. He makes a pretty picture everywhere, if he’s honest with himself. Fionn doesn’t even let himself think about what it must feel like, being in a constant state of being wanted. 

“Might have to rethink my outfit plans for tonight. Don’t want to run a situation on stage if you’re not here to see it.”

Tommy chooses this moment to reappear, a cameraman trailing him. He claps Fionn on the shoulder and shakes his head at Harry from the doorway.

“That’s really what you’re wearing for this?”

Harry just flaps a hand in Tommy’s direction and flashes a blinding grin, dimple deepening in his cheek. 

-

Harry’s hotel room is nice. They’re always nice, really, but this one’s particularly calming after the long day of traveling Fionn’s had. The shower was nice too, and Fionn turned the water as hot as he could stand, until his skin was pink all over. 

He’s still buzzing with it all, the plane ride and the kissing and the too-hot shower. There’s a message from Harry waiting when he digs his phone out of his bag. 

‘Always miss you more when i see you then you leave again,’ Harry’s written, and then, ‘does that make sense?’

Fionn blinks down at his phone, because it does, kind of. In that weird, Harry approach to emotional honesty. It start to dull after a bit, the missing. It’s always the most acute just after Harry’s gone away again. 

‘Xx’ he types back, dropping his towel and stretching out on what must be a California king bed, not that he knew what that actually was some six months ago. 

He can feel the jetlag creeping in despite the latent energy left from seeing Harry. The bed rivals Harry’s, Fionn thinks, and that’s saying something. He feels a little thrill at the thought that maybe Harry did make sure that this hotel was especially nice. Spreading his limbs out and stretching out the last bits of cramp from the plane ride is easy on a bed this big. Nothing like what it’ll be when he flies back to London and gets back in his own bed, narrow and empty of Harry.

He touches himself idly, his cock still half hard from kissing and the memory of Harry’s body underneath him, all warm, winter-pale skin. Falling into a rhythm is surprisingly easy, even though Fionn’s tired. He feels hot all over and his cock is slick in his fist and he imagines Harry looking at him. Harry thinking about him while he’s on stage and trying not to get hard--to get harder, if Fionn knows Harry at all--and stumbling over a line, maybe. 

It’s hard to let go of his cock, but Fionn knows that reminding Harry what he’s missing is worth it. He still feels awkward taking pictures of himself, can’t spare more of a glance before sending it off and locking his phone, but Harry likes it. More than likes it, Fionn knows, but it’s still--not something he’s used to. 

He thinks about sending Harry a video, somehow, when he’s finishing himself off, his body buzzing all over, hips tilting up off the bed as he spills over his fist. The room smells almost like him after he cleans himself up a bit, a mix of familiar and strange. It’s easy to fall asleep after that, even with his cock still half hard with anticipation.

-

The buzz of his phone is what wakes Fionn up, his glasses still on, slightly crushed against the pillow. 

‘Tease,’ Harry’d typed out over an hour ago, and then there’s a blurry photo, like Harry was in a rush, his cock a hard line in his suit pants. 

‘Think I’ve scarred the driver,’ he wrote a few minutes ago, ‘but I’ll be there soon xx.’

-

Fionn’s cock is dripping on his lower stomach by the time he hears Harry slide his key card and open the door with a soft snick. 

“Jesus,” he breathes, closing the door behind him, “jesus, fuck, Fionn, I’ve been hard since you left, fuck.”

Fionn can’t even bring himself to look up, just lets his hand fall away from his cock and waits for Harry to make his way over to the bed. Harry’s voice is shot, rough and gravelly, and Fionn digs his fingers into the sheets at the sound of it. 

“You’re beautiful, you know?”

Fionn blinks and Harry’s standing at the side of his bed, shirt already gone but still in the black pants he had on at the venue. He watches Harry tug them down, his cock impossibly hard, flushed and leaking at the tip, and he whines a little when Harry climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under the weight of him. 

He runs a finger down Fionn’s stomach, tripping over the still-tacky skin where Fionn had come an hourbefore. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Harry says, reaching down with his other hand to fist his own cock, “like, could barely focus on the show. Felt quite bad about it, if I’m honest.”

“Sorry,” Fionn breathes, his skin prickling where Harry’s scratching lightly at the skin of his lower stomach.

Harry blinks at him, hair hanging down over his forehead in a lazy curl, and then he swings a leg over and seats himself on Fionn’s thighs. 

“I kind of want to come all over you,” he whispers, “is that okay?”

“Harry,” Fionn groans, bringing his hands up off the bed to reach for Harry’s legs. 

Harry pulls at his cock and shifts further up Fionn’s thighs, bumping Fionn’s cock on the upstroke, then reaching out to bring Fionn’s hand to his own cock.

“God, Harry,” Fionn pants, and he can’t even be embarrassed by how his voice sounds, high and needy, because it’s been ages and everything is hot and slick and he’s on the verge of coming even though he’s already gone once tonight. 

“Yeah,” Harry says breathlessly, his hand flying over his cock, “missed you. Missed this, fuck. Your body, Fionn.”

Fionn blushes but he can’t look away from the shiny pink head of Harry’s dick peeking out of his fist, leaking steadily. He remembers the first time Harry came on him. It was an accident, Fionn pulling at the soft hairs on Harry’s inner thigh while sucking him off, then choking and pulling off when Harry came unexpectedly, the last of it striping his lips and cheek. It was a lot then, but this is--this is more, it’s Harry staring down at him like Fionn’s the best thing he’s ever seen, muscles in his thighs jumping and his slick dripping down his fist. Fionn wants it all over him. 

“C’mon, come for me babe,” Harry begs, “wanna see you come, then ‘m gonna clean you up.”

Fionn huffs out a laugh because Harry’s actually going to dirty him up quite a bit first. Fionn can’t even think about the cleaning up part. How soft Harry’s hands always are, how he gets the temperature of the bath just right and the way he drags his fingers down Fionn’s stomach, tracing gentle shapes on his skin, the aftershocks still zinging through Fionn’s body.

“Fuck,” Harry pants, bringing Fionn back to himself where his hand’s stilled on his cock, “sorry, fuck, I can’t--”

Fionn watches him come, frozen so as not to miss any of it. Harry’s brow is furrowed and there’s a sheen of sweat covering his face and Fionn loves him, loves the weight of Harry on his thighs and the hot stripes of come that hit his stomach and the way Harry tips forward after, reaching between them to cover Fionn’s fist with his own. It doesn’t take much for Fionn to come after that, the tight, slick heat of Harry’s fingers covering his own and the sticky remains of Harry’s come on his stomach. He feels like it’s being pulled out of him after a long wait, everything between them going static and hot and slick and then Harry’s collapsing on top of him and burying his face in Fionn’s neck. 

“Missed you,” Fionn breathes into Harry’s hair, focusing on all of the places Harry’s body is touching his, overwhelming and warm and a bit more like home than Fionn wants to let on.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://polaroidgirlfriend.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
